Tips For Surviving The Wasteland
by nemesis1807
Summary: When life sticks you in the middle of nowhere with only an Authority uniform, a note, an encrypted flash drive, roll with it. When life throws bandits, a tyrannical government and a self-righteous resistance group into the mix, well... at least I'll have help! A naïve klepto, a paranoid scientist and a sentry bot who may or may not try to enslave humanity...yeah, I'm going to die..
1. Tip 1: Be Aware

Tip #1: Be Aware

_ Watch what you're doing, where you're going, who's around you. Danger can come from anywhere and obliviousness can get you killed. Be aware of everything around you._

Words. Loud and overwhelming, drowning out every other thought. Just putting one foot in front of the other is an arduous task under such a barrage of noise.

Test. That word is repeated over and over again, a constant background drone. It brings a feeling of dread and fear, casting a dark shadow over everything else.

Train. This one brings the sensation of countless hours of hard, soul crushing work, never completely understanding the purpose but still pressing on until I collapse from exhaustion, all under the intense scrutiny of people without faces or names.

Failure. This word makes me flinch. It comes less often but brings a stronger feeling of pain and loss. Eventually I become numb to it, letting it slide past without registering in my mind.

Experiment. Is there any way to describe how that word makes me feel? It is the root of all the others, making my physically ill. It makes me want to break down in tears and hide away, it makes me want to scream and rage against everything.

It's too much to handle. I press my hands over my ears, but it does no good against the noise in my head. I try to concentrate on the ground directly in front of me as I trudge along, try to focus in on the dirt, dust and rocks in an attempt to block it all out. It works for a moment, the sound receding, but the words come back with a vengeance to smash through my flimsy mental barricade.

Test. Test. Train. Failure. Test. Test. Train. Failure. Experiment.

They come faster and faster, slicing through my mind with flashes of images that intensify everything by tenfold. I fall to my knees with a cry of pain, cradling my head in my hands.

TestTestTrainFailureTestTestTrainFailureExperiment **TestTestTrainFailureTestTestTrainFailureExperiment .**

Success!

This last word, new and frightening, represents a vast unknown. It reverberates through my head, cutting through all the others and leaves only ashes in its wake. Success burns away everything, my thoughts, my memories, my experiences, until only it is left, but the fire is yet to be sated and the word consumes even itself.

Blessed silence. After the ceaseless noise, the sudden emptiness is an unimaginable relief, like a hot, iron spike had just been removed from my mind.

I pitch forwards and land face first on the rocky ground, but it might as well be a feather bed for all I care.

Completely exhausted, both mentally and physically, I fall unconscious.

...

The first thing I become aware of is the heat, pounding down on my back. I shift around, trying to ignore the discomfort, but I'm eventually driven to turn my head around. I squint and raise an arm to block against the sunlight.

And then I realize I'm in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dust and rocks. I scan around the sun baked area. Aside from tall rock formations rising up from the rocky ground, I am completely alone. I crawl into the shadow of one of these natural statues and sit with my back against it, and try to think of what was going on and how I had gotten here.

After a few long minutes, I come up with nothing. Zilch, zero, nadda. Not even my own name.

Ok, let's try not to freak out just yet. There must be some clue around here about who I am.

I look down at myself and see I'm wearing a plain black shirt under a heavy, black and red jacket made of a tough, durable material. My long, black pants with a red stripe down the side are cinched tight around my waist with a thick belt. The ensemble is completed with a pair of heavy, steel toed boots that fit my feet perfectly, and the whole thing has the feel of being some type of uniform.

I shrug a pack off my back (Also red and black. I'm starting to sense a theme here.) and look inside. There are five bottles of water within, one almost empty. Not realizing how thirsty I was until now, I quickly unscrew the cap and finish it off, then move onto a second.

I reach back inside and pull out a handful of wide, thin bars in bright, silver packages, each with a thin strip down their length of either red, purple or yellow. I tear open a purple and find a thin, reddish bar. Cautiously I take a bite, and my mouth explodes with the sweet flavour of dried strawberries.

Satisfied, I take another bite and dig down deeper in the pack. I pull out a ring with a single key, the number thirty-seven stamped on the side. No idea what that's for.

I reach in again and this time my hand finds a hard covered book. I take it out and open it up. On the inside cover I find a neatly printed note.

_Whatever you may think of me, whatever ill feelings you may harbour, they are irrelevant. Follow the route within and you will find someone you can trust. Kvasir should help you once you show him the flash drive._

_ When it is discovered that you are gone, they will be hunting you. Avoid all Authority personnel and keep your head down. You are too important to get yourself killed._

Umm... what? Who's Kvasir? And the Authority, what would they want with me? Of course, considering I can't remember anything, it could be for a lot of reasons.

I flip through the book and find page after page of well detailed maps. I find some marked in red, outlining a route. The one mentioned in the note, perhaps? I have no idea where I am, so I have no idea if I am anywhere near the marked path.

I trace the line, which abruptly ends with no indication of what is there. I follow it back the other way, flipping back several pages. It leads to what looks like a large compound, labeled simply as "Base R-3".

I snap the nook shut and rifle through the bag some more, finding more of the silver bars and a flash drive. I'll need to find a computer somewhere and take a look at it later. And then my fingers find something metal, cold and heavy. I pull out a pistol, expertly maintained and in pristine condition. I check the chamber and find eleven out a twelve bullets there, one shot missing.

I tuck the gun into my belt. The pack contains nothing else, so I put everything back inside, sling it over my shoulder and stand up.

I have no idea where I am, where I should go. I look around in all directions. I think I can see the hazy outline of something in the distance to the south. As good as any direction, I suppose, and whatever's there will at least give me something to aim for so I don't wander about in circles.

It's a long walk and it's damned _hot_. I strip off the jacket and stuff it in the pack. As I'm pulling off the sleeves, however, I notice something strange in the inside of my left wrist. In bold, black figures, "18-06" is tattooed there.

What the Hell is that supposed to mean? I stare at it as I walk, having no idea what to make of it. I lightly trace it with a finger, not watching where I am going.

And so absorbed am I in questions and speculations that I don't notice anything is amiss until something comes down hard on the back of my head.

...

It's not every day one wakes up to find their hands and feet are tied together and they're hanging upside down on a chain connected to a hook in the ceiling. And if you do, well I think it's high time you rethink your lifestyle.

I struggle against the bonds, but only succeed in swinging myself around like a piñata. I try to calm myself down and take stock of my surroundings.

This room had probably been some type of luxury bathroom back before the asteroid hit, but judging from the blood, gore and graffiti (mostly variations of skulls. Very original.) that decorate the place, it now serves a much darker purpose. A mound of fly covered bodies are piled in the old hot tube on the side of the room, not exactly a great sign of my chances, and other then me there is one other in the room, unconscious but still breathing as far as I can tell.

He's all trussed up and gagged on the floor, blood coating the side of his bald head. His clothes, weathered and dirty, are spotted with blood, his or someone else's I can't tell.

Screams. I jerk around, but the sound is coming from outside the room. Another heart wrenching cry of pain, a young girl's by the sound of it, fourteen or fifteen maybe. I can hear her begging to someone, but her pleas are cut off with another scream.

I really start to panic now, twisting and struggling like a lunatic. The chain rattles as I swing around, but it is thick and strong, definitely not about to break any time soon.

The screams stop abruptly. After a long moment of silence, the door to the room slams open and a tall, wiry man struts in with all the self assurance of someone who knows they are in complete control of the situation.

His skin is covered in a white, chalky substance along with many occult tattoos that decorate his bare skull, chest and arms. His only clothing is a pair of loose, baggy pants and a dark grey bandanna that covers the lower half of his face.

He pulls that down as he approaches me, giving me a chilling, feral grin that reveals a mouthful of sharpened, yellow teeth like crumbling tombstones in a mess of bloody gums.

"Ne me touchez pas!" I yell when he raises a hand to my face. His grin widens.

"Not just an Authority bitch, then, but a French, Authority bitch. Oh we're going to have some fun!"

My brain struggles for a moment, grasping at straws before switching to English.

"Get the Hell away from me you disgusting bastard!"

He laughs.

"What a little firebrand you are. But I'll get to you in a moment. I have some business to attend to first."

He walks over to the man on the floor, now awake and staring at his captor with cold hatred.

"No one crosses the Ghost Clan, Hagar. After we're done here, I'm going to pay that family of yours a visit, burn that shithole to the ground!"

I struggle against the chains to no avail. I look around in a panic. The chains aren't going to break, but maybe...

I look up at the ceiling, where the hook is drilled into the ceiling. I jerk my feet downwards and see cracks appear in the century old, crumbling ceiling. I repeat this again and again, swinging back and forth as I try to get free.

He pulls out a knife and grabs the other by the shoulder.

"I promise this is going to hurt!"

He drives the knife forwards just as the ceiling gives way. My momentum flings me over to crash into his back. We fall to the floor in a tangle.

Hagar twists around and uses both feet to kick the man in the head. When he doesn't move, Hagar manoeuvres himself to his knees. I roll off the man and Hagar lips him over with bound hands, revealing the man's own knife impaling his chest.

Hagar pulls it out and uses it to awkwardly saw through the sinew (ew) ropes binding his hands together. He removes the gag, cuts through the ropes at his feet and stands over me.

"Where did you get that uniform? Are you Authority?"

"I don't know," I answer, looking him right in the eye.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I don't know."

He stares down at me for several seconds before starting to work on my binds.

"I'm taking a risk here, helping you out. Authority hasn't earned much love around these parts, and if they find out I helped one… Still, if we work together we might have a shot at getting out of here alive."

When I'm loose he pulls me to my feet.

"The name's Dan Hagar."

"Six," is all I can think to say, glancing down at the tattoo on my wrist.

He gives me an odd look, the shrugs and makes his way over to the door.

"All right then, Six. We've got a whole mess of Ghost Clan bandits between us and freedom. You up for this?"

No. No I'm not. I had just woken up in the middle of nowhere with no memory, then taken captive by a murderous bandit clan. I want to curl up someone and hide, not fight and kill. I don't say any of this, however, and instead nod.

We go through the doorway into a short hallway, the end blocked off with a rough barricade of old couches and tables. A second door leads to what must have once been a lavish bedroom now destroyed by time and exposure. What we find inside turns my blood to ice.

A girl, surely the one I heard earlier, is a mangled, bloody mess on the bed. Her face is brutally bashed in, but there are signs that she had endured many horrors before her death. I quickly avert my eyes, trying not to throw up.

I see my backpack on a nearby dresser, the contents spread out beside it. I hurriedly walk over, not daring to look anywhere else, and put everything back inside, sling it over my shoulder and tuck my pistol in my belt. Then I look up and see myself for the first time in a cracked and dirty mirror.

The eyes catch my attention first, a bright, vivid green full of fear and worry. They're set on a sunburned, dirt smudged face, mildly pretty but nothing remarkable. My hair is cut short, red and sticking out in messy spikes.

I take a step back and look at myself fully. I think I might be eighteen, possibly seventeen, but I could pass as a boy. Nothing to look at whatsoever.

I turn away and see Hagar holding a sniper rifle picked up off a table, a pair of green tinted sunglasses now on his face.

"Let's go."

Out of the bedroom, we enter a large, wide open room with the walls and ceiling crumbled away. The outside world is clearly visible and I can see a barren, rocky valley far down below, enclosed on two sides by sheer cliffs. There's nothing else to see, no towns or settlements out there, just us and the bandits.

Through a torn down wall, we go through smaller, run down bedrooms, all empty. This place must've been some sort of resort pre-impact. It's certainly big enough with countless rooms.

Through one destroyed bedroom, we come to a place where a giant chunk of the building is just gone as if ripped away by a giant's hand. The walls and ceiling are completely gone, leaving only the floor that stretches out then drops away suddenly.

"Why haven't we run into anyone yet?" I whisper to Hagar.

He doesn't answer, just carefully steps down the stairs to the destroyed room, holding his sniper rifle tightly. I pull out my pistol as well.

We stop just short of the room, eyes darting around to take in the flat, open floor, the only cover being a few mouldy couches. There is no where else to go, but we can see a single zip line at the far end.

"This whole place screams 'kill zone'," I whisper, looking up at the floors higher up on either side of the room.

"The way I see it," Hagar says, "our best shot is just a flat out run for the zip line."

"I only see one handle."

"You don't look that heavy. I'll grab onto it, you piggy back on me."

"All right."

All Hell breaks loose the moment we take a step out. On the upper floors, Ghost Clan members appear with guns, old and rusty but still deadly. Others jump down, screaming wordlessly as they charge at us with large, curved knives.

I shoot with a precision I didn't know I had. Each shot of my pistol brings down a knife wielder while each deafening bang of Hagar's rifle signals the end of a gunman.

But there is just too many, coming one after another without a though to their fallen comrades. My pistol clicks as I run out of bullets. The man I was aiming for flinches back, then continues running when he realizes I'm all out.

Instinct takes over. As the knife is raised upwards to end my life, I lash out with a closed fist, striking him in the solar plexus. He doubles over and I bring my knee up to crash into his head. He falls backwards and we keep going.

Almost there, just a few more feet…

There's a shout and I turn to see that Hagar has fallen, a patch of red blooming on his right thigh.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but for a moment the idea of just leaving him there, of saving myself and forgetting about Hagar, crosses my mind. Well, maybe for a bit longer than a moment. Ok, a **lot** longer than a moment. Don't judge me.

I cast a longing look at the zip line before running back and dragging Hagar behind the meager cover of an old couch.

"Take this," he hisses through the pain, handing me his sniper rifle.

I take the gun, set the barrel on the top of the couch and fire at anyone who got too close. Hagar takes something out of his pocket, bandages from the look of it, and wraps it around his leg.

"I doubt a couple of rags are going to help much with gunshot wound."

"They only need to get me to that zip line."

I keep firing. God, do they ever stop? It's like we poked an angry hornets' nest and the gun only fires so quickly.

"We need to get out of here before we're overrun!"

"I can make it. Help me up."

I grab his arm and pull him to his feet, still firing the whole time. Damn it, sniper rifles are not designed for this try of situation! I let go of Hagar and swing it around like a club, taking out one too-close-for-comfort bandit.

Hagar hobbles over to the zip line while I do my best to cover him. A patch of wooden floor at my feet explodes and I jump back. Hagar grabs the handle on the line and I don't hesitate to jump on his back.

And then we're off, picking up speed as we zoom through open air across to the other side of the hotel. This place is _huge!_ Just how many bandits are living here? Too many would be my guess.

A hole is torn down in the wall and jump out into a stair well at the end of the zip line. I take the lead, eager to get out of here while Hagar follows behind, going much slower.

Having left such a large group of Ghosts behind, I don't think to check where I'm going, don't think that there might be more. When I catch sight of the hotel's rundown lobby, I make a run for it, and then a volley of gunshots take me by surprise and I fall to the ground.

I hear people talking, laughing, and then there are shouts and more gunshots. All this sounds so far away, getting even farther with each passing second. A deep cold settles into my limbs and my thoughts move at the pace of thick syrup.

Suddenly, a blazing pain spikes through my chest, snapping me back to reality. I gasp and sit up with a start, pressing a hand over my heart as the pain recedes. I look over and see Hagar staring at me, the bodies of two dead bandits on the ground.

"You have some explaining to do."


	2. Tip 2: Prepare Your Defenses

Tip #2: Prepare Your Defenses

_Whether your staying in a permanent safe house or a temporary camp, don't just fall asleep and hope for the best. Build those walls, dig those ditches, make some traps, set up an alarm system. Even if its a far cry from impenetrable, something is better than better than nothing and even a foot deep hole can trip an attacker and give you much needed time._

The term 'prisoner' was never said out loud, but I can read between the lines. After our close call at the Ghost Clan hideout, Hagar led me to a buggy outside. While not exactly holding a knife to by back, he kept his sniper rifle in his hands and I got the message. Run and end up with a bullet in the head.

As we drove down the dusty road, Hagar constantly watching from the corner of his eye, I breifly considered diving out the window and making a run for it. With my bag of supplies kept in the back out of reach, however, that would be like digging my own grave. Even if I did manage to get away without my brains splattered everywhere, I'd die soon of dehydration.

So I sat there like a good little girl and waited. It turned out the settlement, really only a small collection of patched up pre-impact buildings, perhaps an old rest stop, wasn't all that far from the hotel the Ghost Clan called home. Just an hour down the road. Not exactly the smartest of decisions, but whatever.

So I was marched into a garage reeking of motor oil attached to what looked to have been a diner at some point. This time the rifle barrel was shoved into my back. With all the people hanging about, it would seem Hagar wasn't taking any chances. They stared at our passing but didn't ask any questions. It would seem Hagar is the leader around here. So what was he doing in the clutches of those tattooed psychopaths?

So here I am, stuck in a recently emptied garage. The shelves were emptied, all vehicles removed, left alone with only a metal folding chair for company. Isn't life grand?

Time passes. Then some more. Then some more. I think I hear arguing through the door leading into the diner at some point, but I can't make it all out. Somthing about being too dangerous? Are they talking about me? 'Cause it's rude to talk about people behind their back.

I'm getting really bored now. The place has been completely emptied so their isn't anything to amuse myself with. I look under an old unit and found an dust covered bobblehead that must have rolled under there at some point. Some sort of space marine person. Sadly that is the highlight of my day.

I eventually manage to fall asleep, cold, stomach rumbling and mouth parched. Couple that with the , grease stained floor I'm on and I don't exactly have the best night's sleep. Keep waking up and then finally stop trying. Too bad I donn't have anything productive to work on. Then I could actually be, you know, productive.

Well, I suppose I can try to figure some stuff out. Key word there is try. Without my memory, trying to piece things together is sort of like mashing puzzle pieces together when you don't have the whole set but still expecting it to come out looking like the picture on the box.

Anyway, let's start with what I do know for sure. I woke up in the middle of the wasteland alone with no memory. I was wearing an Authority uniform. I was carrying a book of maps leading to an unknown destination. There was a note in the book warning to stay away from the Authority and mentioned someone named Kvasir. There is a tattoo on my wrist saying '18-06'.

Ok, time to speculate. I'm a scavenger who came across that stuff and thought they'd be valuable. Or maybe I'm a member of the Authority tracking down a defector, found them, and was to return to base. Or maybe I've escaped from an Authority base and am now on the run. Or maybe I'm an insane murderer killing people for kicks and all that stuff was trophies from my previous kills.

And I am getting nowhere. I don't like speculating. It makes me nervous. My imagination just jumps straight to the disturbing. Wait, is that a sign of insanity? Maybe I am a murdering psycho. Hell, for all I know I could be a figment of someone's twisted imagination in the world of a video game.

Ok, no more speculating for me. Or imagining. Or even thinking, just to be on the safe side. I'm already nearing a breakdown and don't need myself pushing me over the edge.

So I wait some more. Pace around the room. How long have I been in here? It feels like days and I'm getting hungry. Thirsty too, but fantasizing about food is so much more satisfying.

And then the diner door finally opens and Hagar walks in, now all cleaned up.

"About bloody damned time! I've been in here for ages!"

"It's only been two hours."

"...Are you sure? 'Cause I'm pretty sure its been longer."

Hagar pulls out another chair from the diner then shuts the door. He sits down and motions for me to take a seat. Hesitatingly, I sit.

"I've got a few questions for you."

"And I probably don't have any answers."

Turns out that I was right. Who are you? I don't know. Where did you come from? I don't know. Are you part of the Authority? I don't know. Where did you get the uniform? I don't know. Are you an Ark survivor? I don't know but I'm ninety nine percent sure I'm not.

Question after question with me always giving the same answer like a broken record. Maybe I should invest in a tape recorder, play the 'I don't know' response in a loop so I don't have to keep repeating myself. And then Hagar starts asking the same questions over again (what, was he expecting me to trip up in my story? Kinda hard to mess'I don't know'.) and I start to get annoyed. Perhaps I should be a bit more concerned with my situation, but I am tired, hungry, thirsty, and my chest is sore from where I had been shot. I've had enough of all this and I'm this close to going over the edge when he starts round three of the questioning.

"Je ne sais pas."

"What?"

"Well you don't seem to be understanding english, so I thought I'd try switching to french. I don't know. Je. Ne. Sais. Pas."

Hagar sighs. He looks tired. Maybe he's finding this as pointless as I am but is just grasping for answers, an explaination for who I am so he can figure out what to do. I suppose I can understand that. The wasteland is a dangerous place and one action done without having all the facts can get you killed.

"So why don't you tell me what you _do_ know then," he says.

"It's not much, I can tell you that."

He crosses his arms, staring at me from behind his green tinted sunglasses.

"All right then. Well, I woke up in the wasteland, alone and without any memory of my past. Not even a name. The only thing I had on me was that pack, and I'm sure you've already picked through that. So I started walking, got jumped, woke up in the hotel. And that's my inspiring tale of adventure. Already sold the movie rights."

Hagar is not amused. He just continues to stare at me, not saying anything.

He doesn't believe me. Why would he? I was a stranger wearing the uniform of one of if not the most hated faction in the wasteland. Trust isn't something so easily given in this day and age.

"Where did the 'Six' come from then?"

I hold up hand, showing him the tattoo on my wrist.

"Six has a better ring to it than Eighteen."

Hagar leans back in his chair, going reviewing everything in his head.

"If you do have any ties to the Authority, which is very likely, what I decide to do with you will have consequences no matter what," he eventually says. "For now, you'll stay here."

"Great. 'Cause this garage is such a lovely place to stay."

He doesn't respond, just gets up and leaves. A few minutes later the diner door opens and a short, blonde woman with a plain, unremarkable face sets a metal tray on the floor. She quickly steps back and closes the door, but I catch a glimpse of a girl about my age in the background as she stands on tiptoes trying to catch a glimpse of me past the blonde.

Huh. Guess I've sparked some curiousity in the locals.

I go over to inspect the tray. Some kind of grey mush has been unceremonialy dumped on it alongside a mason jar filled with not quite clear water. What the Hell is this supposed to be? If this is what passes for food around here maybe it would have been better had I died in the desert.

Still, beggars can't be choosers. I give it an experimental. I think it may have been some sort of mashed potatoe. Maybe. At some point. Finding food in the wastes may be diificult, but come on, you gotta have standards.

I do manage to choke down some of it. Yep, definately potatoe. Probably from a box of two hundred year old instamash. The damned thing was probably eighty percent perservatives.

So back to the waiting while trying not to throw up. I miss my bag of fruit bars.

I fiddle with the bobblehead for a while. Walk in circles around the room. Try and fail to sleep. Check my stomach for gunshot wounds. Nothing but faint, white starburst patterns were the bullets entered. Does that mean I still have bits of metal lodged in my chest? If so, that's probably going to cause some problems down the road.

I hear a rattling and look over to the large outside entrance of the garage. The rusty metal screeched as it lifted up a foot. The girl I saw earlier rolled in through the opening before it slammed shut, wearing a dark leather jacket, jean shorts and a pair of boots reaching up past her knees. Her short, black hair is mostly concealed behind an old, white motorcycle helmet.

She gets to her feet, dusts herself off and grins at me.

"So you're the one who's got my dad so worked up."

She confidently walks over to me without a trace of hesitation. Guess she wasn't scared of the assumed Authority personel. From her pocket she pulls two familiar rectangles of silvery wrapping, one with a red stripe and one with a yellow.

"I thought you could use some real food instead of that gruel Becky inflicted on you."

I take the bars. This was an interesting development. Was this some sort of interogation tactic? Catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

Something must have shown on my face because the girl smiled and plopped down on the folding chair.

"No need to get all paranoid on me. If anything, it should be me who's suspicious of you. My dad doesn't know I'm here, and if he found out it'd make the asteroid look lke nothing in comparison."

"And where did you get these?" I ask, holding up the bars.

She waggles her fingers with a mischeivious grin. "Another thing that needs to stay our little secret. They shouldn't leave things just laying around where anyone can take them. I'm Loosum, by the way."

"Six."

Loosum raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. I rip open the yellow wrapper, finding what looks to be an oatmeal bar. In the red a strip of dried meat. Not exactly a gourmet meal but it beats fossilized mashed potatoes any day.

"So, Six... What brings you 'round these parts?"

"A rifle barrel pressed against my spine."

Loosum laughs, clapping her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound.

"Ok, next question-"

"When's it going to be my turn?"

She tilts her head to the side, actually considering it.

"Ok, then. How about this. For ever question of mine you answer, I'll answer one of yours."

"Sounds fair enough. But I get to go first. Where am I?"

"The Hagar settlement. My family lives here and my dad keeps us all working together and looks out for us. Why Six?"

"Read it off my tattoo and figured it would do. Is Dan your dad?"

"Yes. Is it true you lost your memory?"

"Yes. Ever hear of anyone named Kvasir?"

"The guy mentioned in that note? No. If you have no memory, how do you still know about the Authority and all that?"

"My memories are gone, not my knowledge. I could start listing off facts about the Wasteland, but I wouldn't know how I learned them or my personal feelings on the subject. For example: I still know what food is even if I don't know what my favourite dish is. Any idea what your dad's going to do with me?"

"No idea. If I were to guess, though, he'll just kick you out and tell you to start walking. When you do leave, what do you plan on doing?"

"Probably try to follow that map to where ever it leads. Why did you come in to see me? It can't just be out of idle curiousity."

"Well... You... I... Around here... It's complicated. I don't really know how to-"

Her response is cut off by a loud bang followed by the sound of a large bell tolling.

"What the Hell is that?"

"It's the alarm! Somethings wrong!"

Loosum springs to her feet and runs to the diner door. She fiddles with a key for a moment then throws the door open.

"Come on! Follow me!"

This is quite the turn of events, but I'm hardly complaining. It'll be good to get out of the garage for a bit. My opinion quickly changes when the sound of yelling and gunfire reach my ears.

"Oh mon Dieu! What's happening out there?!"

"One of the bandit clans must be attacking! We have to help!"

"You want to run _into_ a war zone? Do you at least have a plan?"

"Go in guns blazing andn hope for the best?"

"So not going to happen. Go find what weapons you can then come back here. I'll figure something out."

Loosum runs off. From what I managed to see on the way in, the settlement is built beside a rock face and encircled by a patched together metal wall. The rock face will protect against attack from that side, but also keeps from escaping in that direction. That makes it as asset as long as the walls stand, but once they crumble, it will only serve to trap the locals with no way out.

Given the state of the wall, I don't expect it to hold anyone out for long. It's not very tall or very thick. Being so close to a bandit hideout, I would have expected that they would build something a bit more impressive than a single solid sheet of metal. Really, they should have gone with a layered approach, allow the wall to give a bit so it can shift and one solid blast won't rip a giant hole in it. Layers of metal plating with half an inch between them, add slot holes to return fire while staying protected...

Ok, so not the time to be thinking about this. Back to reality.

Outside is chaos, people running about shouting in the half light of dusk. The front gates are slammed shut and settlers stand atop the wall, doing their best to protect their home. I can't see just how many are attacking, but from the sound of things we are outnumbered and outgunned.

I hear the sharp crack of a sniper rifle being fired and look up to see Hagar on top of the diner, carefully taking aim at whatevers behind the wall. He's completely focused and not panicing, which is quite the feat considering this is his home and people that are under attack. He doesn't notice me down here, which is good. The last thing I need to worry about here is friendly fire.

Loosum returns, her face drained of blood. I'd wager she's never seen any actual combat. She hands me my pistol, which bears some clear signs of having been tampered with, and not by an expert based on all the little scratch marks. Here's to hoping it still works.

Loosum is holding a circular weapon made up of three sharp blades connected in the center. I'm not quite sure what it is, but from the way she holds it, I'm guessing she knows how to use it.

This is better than nothing, but we're not exactly packing much fire power here. I look around and notice a trench of sorts leading under the large gas sign. It looks like a store is set up down there, with its owner, a tall, lanky man with long, greasy, blonde hair cowering beneath one of the tables. More importantly, I see an assualt rifle on that table.

I run down and snatch it up. It's a beaten up onld weapon, but it'll pack more of a punch than my pistol. I take it along with a box of extra ammo.

"Just need to borrow this for a sec," I yell over my shoulder to the frightened shop keeper.

I go back to Loosum, who's looking at me with a mixture of surprise and weariness.

"What? I'm just borrowing it. If I recall correctly, you're the thief here. Now, are their any other entrances to the settlement?"

"There's a second entrance through Durar's garage."

"Lead the way."

Thankfully, the attackers haven't noticed this one yet. We run across the settlement, into the garage than peak out the back door. Nothing so far. I sneak out and duck behind a nearby rock sticking out of the road. I peer around and get a good look at the attackers.

They look like Ghost Clan, fifteen of them or so with another five splayed out on the ground, dead. Must be looking for revenge. Along with them are two buggies, one smashed into the buckling main gate (which explains the bang from earlier) and the other hanging back while driving in a tight loop.

What are my options? So, I could just run, leave my former captors to their fate and guard my own life. That still leaves me with no supplies, no idea of where I'm going and my only clothing a uniform that'll get me shot on sight most anywhere. Charging in will only get me killed, so I need a plan...

Unless, of course, Loosum decides to screw us both by throwing her stick thing at the nearest bandit.

It flys in a wide arc while spinning round and round. It slices across the man's throat in a spray of blood, bounces off then returns to Loosum's hand. One of his buddies takes notice and catches sight of us instantly.

First thought: I gotta get me one of those. Second thought: Loosum, you are so stupid. Third thought: RUN!

I grab the back of Loosum's jacket and haul her back into the garage. I hear shouts from outside and know we only have a few seconds before we're overun with murderous bandits. Damn it, Loosum!

Ok, they'll be time to be mad later. Hopefully. I look around for anything we can use. While Hagar's garage was completely emptied, this one was stocked full of old parts and equipment. An old buggy sits in the middle of the place, though I can tell just by looking at it it won't even start. Wrenchs hang on pegs, screwdrivers, buckets of bolts... aha!

A big red container sits in the corner. I unscrew the top and get a whiff of the distinct smell of gasoline. I rush over to the entrance and dump it over the ground. Then I place the container by the side of the door, empty except for fumes.

This was either going to work perfectly or turn me into a charred corpse.

Just in case things go south, I direct Loosum to stand inside the doorway to the shop area. It doesn't take long for the first wave of Ghost Clan to reach the garage. Three of them come charging in, curved bone knives raised high. With my pistol I shoot the empty gas container.

The fumes within explode in a flash of fire and an intense wave of heat. The bandits are thrown to the side and the sickening smell of burnt flesh fills the garage. The gasoline catches fire, blocking off the entrance with a wall of fire. I drop my pistol and take out the rifle.

A spray of bullets from the assualt rifle, inaccurate as they are, is enough to bring down the next two men who appear beyond the door. One gets off a shot with a rusty pistol before he falls, the bullet passing harmlessly high over my head.

I reload the rifle and Loosum comes farther into the garage, ignoring my directions to stay back.

A group of four comes next, three with pistols and one with a bone knife. I hurry to finish reloading while Loosum throws her weapon, decapitating one of the gunmen. Shit, that thing is powerful!

One of the Ghost Clan jumps through the now dying down fire, his knife raised high. He brings it down as I raise my rifle, catching the knife. I kick out, catching my foot on his leg and yank. He falls backwards, taking me with him and we both fall to the floor.

I scramble away, searching for my discarded pistol. My hand closes around the metal grip as a blinding pain stabs through my leg. The Ghost Clan member has his bone knife buried in my lower calf.

First thought: That thing has got to be covered in God knows what now with direct access to my bloodstream. Second thought: OWWWWWWW!

I flip over to my back and fire, blowing a hole in the bandit's head. I twist around to see Loosum throwing her weapon once again.

There's a loud bang and a spot of red blooms on Loosum's shoulder. She screams in pain and falls backwards. I raise my pistol and empty the clip into the last Ghost Clan member. I pull the knife out of my leg, my pant leg now soaked with blood. I gritt my teeth and try to push through the pain.

I get up to standing and hop over to Loosum. She's extremely pale, staring down on her wound with something like disbelief.

"Come on, we've got to move."

I help Loosum to her feet, and using each other for support, we stumble out of the garage and back into the settlement.


End file.
